Page 78 of Gone Tonight
I had a new routine, too. I ate breakfast before the store opened andpacked a lunch to take with me to the library every day. I made sandwiches from a jar of Skippy and a loaf of Wonder Bread, and culled single bananas from a larger bunch. I couldn’t resist a pack of Life Savers or a Milky Way bar every now and then, too.
From the health care shelf, I took a bottle of prenatal vitamins and swallowed one every night at bedtime.
By the end of that first week, I knew the store’s rhythms well. Employees closed up and exited a little after nine, extinguishing all but the two security lights at the front of the store just before they stepped out. From that moment until early the next morning, the entire Target belonged to me. I wandered through the baby section, looking at the tiny outfits and bibs, and I studied contraptions like a co-sleeper and something called a Jumperoo, trying to figure out what you’d need. Sometimes I tried on maternity clothes, stuffing a pillow into the billowy blouses. There was a beanbag chair in the kids’ section that I’d curl up in with my flashlight and a crisp new People or US Weekly while I munched on Cheez-Its. For those few minutes, I could almost be a normal teenage girl, checking out the members of NSYNC and wondering if the cast members of Dawson’s Creek were dating in real life.
Before I went to sleep, I used the bathroom sink to take sponge baths, and once I even washed my hair in it, filling a plastic cup with water and pouring it over my head again and again to rinse. It was a lot easier to manage with short hair.
Since I wasn’t sure if the cleaners moved the rack of clothes I slept in to vacuum the carpet beneath it, I found a second hiding place. At six-fifteen, right before the cleaners showed up, I climbed onto a low shelf in the toy aisle and lay down behind a row of big boxes containing toy lawn mowers.
When the cleaners left, I slipped back into my usual hiding spot and waited for the doors to open. Only once did someone almost catch me. An early-bird shopper appeared just after I’d climbed out. I hadn’t even had a chance to stand up. I was still crouched on the ground.
I ducked my head and pretended to be tying my shoe, praying shedidn’t notice the laces were already done. But nothing happened, so I guess I fooled her.
I knew I couldn’t live in the Target forever, much as I wanted to. A baby wouldn’t understand the need to be quiet.
So a week after I ran away, instead of going to the library to pass the day, I packed up my duffle bag and, fifteen minutes after the store opened, slipped out of my hiding place and headed toward the front door.
I bought a pack of gum from a cashier because it seemed less suspicious than exiting without buying anything. Even if I’d been stopped and my bag searched, they wouldn’t find anything incriminating. The flashlight and alarm clock I used were back on the shelf, and the Pirates cap and sunglasses looked like I’d owned them for a while. The only clothes in the bag were my own, and I doubt anyone would think the loose granola bars and half-eaten jar of peanut butter with the missing label belonged to the store. I always made sure to get rid of any unnecessary packaging in case it had an electronic security device on it. My trash blended in with the other waste customers threw into the bins at the store.
The cashier barely even looked at me as he rang up my grape Bubble Yum and gave me a few coins in exchange for my dollar, and a moment later, I was out on the sunlit street.
I needed to do a couple of things. First, I had to get rid of Coach’s watch. I’d thought about pawning it, but the initials DTF were engraved on the back. It was dangerously distinctive.
It also felt haunted. I slept with my head on my duffle bag and I swear I could hear its faint, relentless ticking through the thin fabric of my bag. I’d tucked the watch into one of my shirts and buried it beneath all the other clothes in my bag, but I still couldn’t muffle the sound, even though I knew it existed only in my mind.
I pulled the brim of my cap a little lower and unwrapped a squishy purple piece of gum and popped it in my mouth as I headed to the Allegheny River. I walked through Market Square and passed by the Andy Warhol Bridge, then found my way to a path adjacent to the river. I walked along it for a half mile or so, passing joggers and people hurryingto work and the occasional mom pushing a baby stroller. All the while, I kept my eye out for a stone that was a little bigger in circumference than my wrist.
I found a smooth, white-gray one by the base of a tree.
I slid the watchband partway over the rock, until it fit snugly. I waited for a break in foot traffic, then I moved to the river’s edge and hurled the rock as hard as I could.
The watch and stone sank together into the calm, murky water.
Rings of ripples spread out, small at first, then widening. They seemed to be reaching toward the shore. I took an involuntary step back.
I forced away the crazy idea that somehow the watch was crawling back toward me.
I began to walk quickly down the path. No one seemed to have paid any attention to what I’d done. I’d gotten rid of the only remaining physical link between me and Coach, which meant I’d wrapped another layer of security around myself. Plus, James had been arrested for Coach’s murder, and he hadn’t spoken a word about the crime or my involvement. I’d read about it a few days ago in a newspaper from the periodical racks in the library.
I had to keep my focus clear. Even without the watch reminding me of every passing second, I knew I had little time left to find a place for us both to live.
My next stop was going to be Pittsburgh University. The semester was well underway, and all the fraternities would be done with rush week. Frat houses were generally welcoming places to young females, and one thing I’d learned during all the years I’d accompanied my dad to fix up student housing was that there was always a guy on campus who knew how to make fake IDs. I’d seen the evidence plenty of times—some kids didn’t even bother to put away their laminating machines and stacks of small passport photos when we came by to repair a leaking sink or board up a window that had gotten broken during a party.
Once I’d secured a passable-looking driver’s license with a brand-new name—I’d picked Joan Smith—I’d apply for jobs. I’d walked by a lot of coffee shops and delis near my Target, and even though I didn’thave many skills, I figured I could manage waitressing. Once I’d saved enough, I’d rent a cheap room from someone who wouldn’t ask for references or care about my age as long as I paid the rent on time.
I was finally feeling calm when I spotted a dad and his daughter coming toward me. She was about five, and her little hand was tucked in his big one while they walked.
As he bent down to lift her into his arms, I heard him say the words te queiro. I knew what they meant—I love you—because they were the same ones my dad used to say to me every single night.
All the air flew out of me, like I was a balloon someone stuck with a sharp pin. I sank down on my knees in the middle of the path. I couldn’t stop crying for the rest of the morning.
I can’t write any more.
I put my journal back and go check on Catherine again. She hasn’t touched the tea or crackers. She seems to be sleeping.
I take a quick, hot shower and try to watch a little television, but I can’t focus on anything. I end up puttering around, rearranging kitchen drawers that are already tidy and watering the plants. At dinnertime, I make myself a peanut butter sandwich, for old times’ sake and to remind myself I’ve gotten through seemingly impossible situations before.
Afterward, I stand in Catherine’s doorway for a long time, looking at her.
